He wore the robes, of course. A maroongown with pockets toward the bottom and a thick sash, slightly darker than the gown but still maroon, stood out against dark, aged skin covered with light hair. Brown penny loafers covered his feet and his head was shaved, but the hair was beginning to grow back, giving his head a fuzzy appearance. He wore a watch on his right wrist and a key around his waist, which also held a cellular phone, hidden under the dark sash.

The class sat in surrealsilence. Not one person spoke, but stared at this man, as if waiting for divine inspiration to pour from his thin lips. He gazed at each of us through sunken eyes, his fingers constantly twirling a string of brown beads. Tall and thin, he stood perfectly straight and towered before us, daring one of us to say something.

I was awestruck when he finally spoke. His English was perfect, and he showed no trace of an accent. This man is American, I thought, but said nothing to my classmates, just continued to stare. I had expected him to speak wise words in a slight accent, bowing to us as he politely told us that we were unenlightened and should seek to better ourselves.